


under their own vine and fig tree

by emlof



Category: Naruto
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Fourth Shinobi War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 17:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16769251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emlof/pseuds/emlof
Summary: He isn’t sure what he needs. But Kakashi’s open concern for him, the weight of the blanket on his shoulders, the quiet rasp of pages sliding against one another as Kakashi reads – it seems like a start.---Yamato and Kakashi, after the war.





	1. i. clearcut

_[clearcut / klîr′kŭt′ / (of an area) from which every tree has been cut down and removed]_

\--

Yamato doesn’t remember the war, not really. Even something so tremendous as a war is hard to remember when you spend the majority of it unconscious. What little he does remember comes to him in fragments – a sharp pain in the back of his head, murky darkness whenever he managed to claw his way back to consciousness, a pervasive sense that something was _wrong._ A lingering fear that maybe no one was coming for him.

He remembers waking up, barely, to a familiar voice and the faint scent of blood and scorched fabric and wet dog. He remembers the feeling of someone gripping him tight, strong hands carefully carding through his hair and a face pressed into the crook of his neck. The sensation of being lifted, cradled gently in someone’s arms as they stood. 

Thinks he remembers someone speaking, voice soft and low and thick with emotion as he slipped back into unconsciousness, words at the edge of his consciousness that he couldn’t quite make out.

\--

(Kakashi doesn’t really remember finding Tenzō, either, just unthinkingly picking him up – anything to avoid having to look at his still, twisted form on the ground – and being vaguely aware of someone murmuring a mantra, a steady stream of “thank god we found you, Tenzō, thank god you’re alright. I thought you were gone. Thank god—” before realizing that his mouth was moving, that it was his voice saying Tenzō’s name over and over, a quiet prayer in the dark.)

\--

\--

\--

He wakes up in the hospital after a week, listens, numb, as Tsunade explains what happened to him. How Madara used his body, his chakra, his _knowledge_ to kill thousands of people. How his betrayal – forced, unknowing, unwilling, but a betrayal nonetheless – almost killed him, too. 

A violent shudder runs through his body at the realization that he had been trapped and used and hadn’t been able to do anything to stop it, that all his training hadn’t been able to prevent him from being controlled, that his worst nightmare had been realized all over again. He’s been leaning against Kakashi’s side, knows the other man feels the tremors and his single hitching breath, but when Kakashi just gives his shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze, he can’t bring himself to mind.

\--

\--

\--

His house hasn’t been repaired yet, he finds, upon dismissal from the hospital a few days later.

He’s missed a lot – Sasuke coming and going all over again, Kakashi’s inauguration, the gradual resettling of Konoha. Everyone else has had time to come down from the tension of the war but he’s only just woken up, and he mulls over that idea as he walks, the sensation that he’s behind, somehow, in learning peace. Kakashi is trailing behind him, hands in his pockets in a casual shrug like he thinks Yamato can’t feel him practically vibrating with tension. 

“I’m not going to keel over if you leave me alone for longer than thirty seconds, senpai,” he mutters, petulant. Kakashi just hums, an irritating, non-committal noise that Yamato can’t quite unpack the meaning of. 

“You could just stay with me, you know,” Kakashi says for the seventh time since leaving the hospital. “I’ve got the space, it would be easy. Sakura’s already checking up on my eye every day, she can just fit you into her rounds too. It would be more convenient, don’t you think?”

Yamato just rolls his eyes, forming the hand familiar hand signs that will put a roof back over his living room. It’s only when he begins to push chakra into his jutsu that he feels it, something wrong and unnatural and _rotten_ coursing through his body, a massive vine threatening to surround him and strangle him and and drag him underground all over again—

He’s on his hands and knees, heaving into the dirt. There’s vomit in his nose and he can’t breathe and he can feel the damp ground seeping up into the knees of his uniform pants. In all his years of abusing his body for the village he has never felt anything so uniquely awful as this in his life.

Kakashi is there in an instant, smoothing his hair away from his face. His breath is still coming in shuddering gasps, short and shallow, and even with Kakashi rubbing slow, steady circles on his back he can’t seem to fill his lungs.

“Tenzō? What happened, are you alright?” There’s something off in Kakashi’s voice, Tenzō notes absently, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. If it were anyone else, he might say the other man sounded shaken.

“I can’t—” Yamato tries to explain but he still hasn’t caught his breath. Kakashi doesn’t seem to mind that he can’t get the words out, just lets Yamato sag against his side.

Kakashi only moves to stand when Yamato’s breathing has evened out, hoisting Yamato onto his back without hesitation despite the younger man’s weak noise of objection. He takes to the rooftops, soft footsteps lulling Yamato closer to calm.

Yamato is the first to break the quiet. “I think there’s something wrong with my chakra,” he murmurs into Kakashi’s back.

Kakashi hums, soft and unexpectedly reassuring. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, tightening his grip where he’s holding Yamato up. There’s a pause, like Kakashi is weighing his words. “It’s lucky for you that I happen to have space at my place.” 

Yamato just tilts his head into Kakashi’s shoulder, letting himself be carried without protest.

\--

Yamato had assumed Kakashi would take him to the jounin apartments, but when he opens his eyes they’re at an old house, one Yamato doesn’t recognize. 

“The Hatake compound,” Kakashi says, voice soft and uncertain. “The wards here are better, so—” 

He trails off, but Yamato doesn’t need him to finish the sentence to know what he means. Kakashi has always been a little overprotective when he’s feeling off-balance.

“Thank you, senpai,” he says, still leaning heavily against Kakashi’s side as the other man makes a few quick seals to grant them both entry. Kakashi doesn’t say anything, just squeezes his shoulder and steers him into the house.

It’s a nice building, Yamato observes as Kakashi guides him through the entryway and gently pushes him down onto the couch, the type of classic construction that speaks of longevity, of ancient clans and old money. 

“You just wait there a minute, alright?” Kakashi says, and even though it’s phrased as a question Yamato can hear the command in his tone. He’d bristle at being bossed around, but a wave of exhaustion has washed over him and he’s suddenly remembering Tsunade’s instructions as they left the hospital – straight home and back to bed – and how dismal a job he’s done at following them. 

So he sits and listens as Kakashi moves through the house, hears the faint clattering of dishes and the whistle of a teapot. The air of the house is stale, and he can smell the faint scent of old, rotting wood – for all that Kakashi seems suddenly intent on moving back in, it’s clear he’s let the house fall into disrepair over the years, and Yamato catalogues all the damage that time has wrought almost automatically. The sun is setting, and dust floats in the light streaming into the room; Yamato lets out one last shaky breath and slip into an uneasy sleep.

\--

When he opens his eyes again the afternoon sun is all but gone, a soft darkness spilling into the room where the lamplight doesn’t quite reach. At some point Kakashi has draped a blanket around his shoulders – it’s old and a bit scratchy and it smells of mothballs but Yamato can’t find it in himself to care.

Kakashi is curled up in the corner of the couch, reading. The warm glow of the lamp casts a yellow hue on the room; Kakashi’s hair almost seems illuminated. Out of uniform and mask down, he looks younger, the lines in his face less harsh. Yamato stopped being surprised at the sight of his bare face long ago, but he’s still not used to seeing both of Kakashi’s eyes at once – and judging by Kakashi’s scrunched-up face, he’s not quite used to _having_ two eyes at his disposal, either. He huffs out a noise that might be a laugh, watching as Kakashi registers the sound.

He looks over, eyes widening as he realizes Yamato is awake. 

“Hey,” he says softly, “alright, Tenzō?” 

Yamato thinks about his answer, remembers the overwhelming sense of wrongness coursing through his chakra coils, and pulls the blanket tighter around himself. Evidently that’s all the answer Kakashi expects, because he starts talking again.

“I sent a message to Tsunade while you were asleep,” he admits. “We’re meant to visit the Hyuuga compound tomorrow. Well, you are, at least. I told Tsunade I would go, too. Unless..?” He trails off, uncertain.

“I’d like you to come,” Yamato murmurs, and then pauses, surprised at his own honesty. “If you don’t mind the trouble. Senpai.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Kakashi says, waving his hand as if to dispel the idea. “Whatever you need.”

Yamato isn’t sure what he needs. But Kakashi’s open concern for him, the weight of the blanket on his shoulders, the quiet rasp of pages sliding against one another as Kakashi reads – it seems like a start.

\--

He’s not entirely sure how long they sit in the stillness of that pocket of warmth created by the lamplight, but eventually Yamato can’t fight his yawns any longer. 

Kakashi seems to take it as some sort of signal, ushering Yamato through the rooms of the house on an impromptu tour. It’s larger than he had thought at first glance, and there are some rooms where the disrepair is more evident – the kitchen looks almost perfectly intact, but some of the other rooms show signs of sagging beams and sliding doors that have fallen apart after years of neglect. 

Eventually they make their way into a hallway lined with bedrooms.

“That can be yours,” Kakashi says, tilting his head towards a door on one end of the hallway. Yamato nods. “I’ve already made up the bed. But you’re also more than welcome to join me.” 

The generosity of the offer is somewhat undermined when Yamato turns to see Kakashi wiggling his eyebrows and leering at him almost comically. He can’t help but snort at that, the feeling unfamiliar in his throat. “You’re incorrigible, senpai,” he scolds, but he’s smiling as he turns away.

\--

(Kakashi sees one corner of Tenzō’s mouth twitch up as the other man turns away, feigning annoyance, and sags with relief. It’s the first time he’s seen the other man smile since he woke up. It’s enough. He’ll pitch a thousand more cheesy pick-up lines if it means Tenzō might quirk the corners of his lips up even once.)

\--

Yamato jolts awake, unending darkness and the scent of dirt lingering at the edges of his memory. He knows he hasn’t made a sound – that particular reaction trained out of him years ago – but his throat is still ragged as he lets out a shuddering exhale.

He’s in Kakashi’s house, he reminds himself, and the wards here are as strong and ancient as anywhere in Konoha. Kakashi is just across the hall. He’s _safe._

It’s not enough.

When he’s been staring at the ceiling for close to an hour and can still feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Yamato admits defeat.

“Room’s cold,” he mutters, a half-hearted excuse, as he slides the door to Kakashi’s room open. Kakashi is still up, seemingly lost in the pages of another novel. He quirks an eyebrow at Yamato’s entrance but doesn’t seem particularly surprised to see him, scooting sideways and lifting the blanket next to him in silent invitation. 

If he weren’t so desperate for a single night of sleep Yamato might be embarrassed, or bothered by the fact that Kakashi is treating him like a housecat – as it is, he slides between the blankets unthinkingly, grateful that Kakashi’s made it so easy. 

Kakashi reaches across him to turn out the lamp and they curl up underneath the covers by unspoken agreement, backs pressed together. For a moment it’s like they’re kids again, back in the ANBU barracks and looking for warmth and security and some reassurance that there was at least one person in the world who cared whether or not they made it back through the gates at the end of the day. 

They’re older now, but the feeling is the same, Yamato realizes, warmth starting to surround him underneath the comforter. Kakashi’s breathing is even, soothing. He can feel the rise and fall of the other man’s shoulders against his back, the gentle pressure each time he inhales, soft and solid all at once.

The tension in his shoulders begins to ebb away and he lets out a single deep sigh as his pulse finally slows. _Safe,_ he reminds himself, and this time he believes it. Yamato falls asleep to a warm, sturdy presence pressed against him, lulled into unconsciousness by quiet, sleepy breaths. 

For once, he doesn’t dream.

\--

(If Kakashi feels an unexpected wave of protectiveness when Tenzō pads into his room, it’s only because he’s feeling nostalgic. And if he waits until Tenzō is asleep before rolling just to _watch,_ to make sure he’s breathing, if he gives in to the urge to rest gentle fingers over a pulse point, well. It’s nothing to do with the stab of fear he felt when Tenzō collapsed, nothing at all to do with his silent prayer of _please, no, not him too._ He’s just looking out for the wellbeing of a fellow Konoha shinobi. Anyone else would do the same, really.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title is almost certainly something religious but i got it from hamilton lyrics l o l
> 
> short chapter this time (it's really more of a prologue), guessing this will end up being around four chapters or so? who knows. i just have a lot of feelings abt yam.
> 
> you can find me on twitter @eemof!


	2. ii. rimose

_[rimose / (ˈ)rī¦mōs / having numerous clefts, cracks, or fissures; the rimose bark of a tree]_

\--

The quiet rustling of sheets wakes Yamato the next morning. He’s still half-asleep as his eyes flutter open, and he grumbles slightly at the disturbance. 

There’s a huff of quiet laughter from beside him, and then – “go back to sleep, Tenzō,” Kakashi murmurs. “I’ll be back soon.” 

He should get up, Yamato thinks, should offer to join Kakashi as he pays his respects. But it’s still dark out, and the bed is so warm, and he hasn’t slept this well in a long time. 

He closes his eyes, listening as Kakashi pads across the room. The footsteps pause, just for a moment, but then the door is sliding shut and Yamato is slipping back into unconsciousness.

\--

\--

\--

They’re walking to the Hyuuga complex when Yamato notices an ANBU trailing them. Seeing their escort sparks his memory and he puts a hand to his face, exasperated.

“Kakashi,” Yamato starts, “you’re the Hokage.” 

Kakashi nods in agreement. “Seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t you have, uh, Hokage things that you need to be doing?” Yamato asks, unsure whether or not he wants to know the answer.

“Ah.” Kakashi won’t meet Yamato’s gaze. “Well. I may have sent a shadow clone.” 

“Senpai, you’ve barely been Hokage a week – what are you doing here?” Yamato asks, indignant. “You have work to be doing! Don’t abandon your duties already for something as unimportant as this!”

Kakashi comes to an abrupt halt and fixes Yamato with an intense stare. “Don’t say that, Tenzō. You’re very important to – to all of us,” he finishes awkwardly, looking suddenly and intensely uncomfortable. 

“Alright, senpai, I won’t tell Iruka. This time.” Kakashi winces at that, doubtless reminded of his new assistant’s lack of patience for his antics. “But you can’t keep using clones forever.”

Kakashi hums his assent, but Yamato thinks he can see a pout under the mask and can practically hear Kakashi calculating just how long he _could_ get away with sending shadow clones to the office. Before Yamato can comment on how undignified it is, though, they’ve arrived.

Yamato has only been a few times, and the place is just as imposing as he remembers, all thick walls and massive, heavy doors. There’s black bunting over every window and Yamato feels a stab of guilt at the reminder of their losses – his fault, something at the back of his mind helpfully supplies. He swallows, throat suddenly thick.

The back of Kakashi’s hand brushes up against his own. He can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, but the brief moment of contact is grounding. Yamato takes a deep breath and presses forward.

The door to the main house creaks open at Kakashi’s knock, but instead of the severe figure of Hiashi it’s Hinata who’s come to greet them.

“Captain Yamato, Hokage-sama. Welcome,” she bows, polite as ever. Yamato darts his eyes over to Kakashi, who’s looking pained.

“Please, no need for the formality. Besides, I’m not here on official business,” he says, awkwardly waving his hand as if to dispel her formality. “Just as a friend.” 

“Oh?” Hinata looks surprised, and Yamato feels his own eyes widen at the admission. “Well then, Captain, Kakashi-sensei, please come in.”

\--

The Hyuugas say there’s nothing wrong with his chakra. 

Deep down, Yamato already knew that would be their assessment – it’s not as if Tsunade or Sakura would have missed something so noticeable. 

And when he really thinks about his failed attempts at using mokuton, both when he tried to rebuild his house and for the Hyuuga’s test, it’s not the chakra that’s the problem. It’s that his skill feels tainted, somehow. He feels dirty using it. Guilty. So it’s not a surprise, really, when Hinata pulls him aside to privately deliver the news – there’s nothing wrong with his chakra coils, nothing preventing him from using mokuton. 

He can’t bring himself to tell Kakashi. He’s not sure what it is – Kakashi has been nothing but supportive since he woke up, there’s nothing to indicate he wouldn’t be just as accepting if Yamato just told him the truth. 

But he looks so _hopeful_ when Yamato meets his eye. 

“Well?” Kakashi asks, and Yamato looks at him and thinks of everything Kakashi must be grappling with right now, how inconsequential this mental weakness is compared to the fate of the village. 

“I’ll be fine, senpai, it should come back on its own after a few days,” he lies. “I just tried to use it too soon after being released from the hospital. You don’t need to neglect your duties on account of me any longer, I can manage. Go back to work.”

He feels a twinge of guilt at sending Kakashi away, but really, who is he to keep the Hokage from his work? Kakashi’s obvious relief at his lie only strengthens his resolve.

\--

\--

\--

With Kakashi gone, Yamato isn’t quite sure what to do with himself. For all that Kakashi has welcomed him into his home, Yamato still feels like a guest – he isn’t quite sure what he can and can’t do, so he just wanders the halls, peering into open doors and ignoring closed ones.

The damage to the house isn’t structural in most places, just the result of age and neglect. There are places where the roof leaks, where water has dripped onto tatami mats and through to the floor below. In some rooms the delicate screens of the shoji doors are torn, the doorframes sagging. What little furniture there is shows its age as well – chairs are wobbling, a bookshelf sags in the corner. One waterlogged cabinet looks to be home to a family of mice. Easy fixes, Yamato thinks, then stops. 

They would have been easy fixes, before. But now – now Yamato’s not so sure. 

Lingering on that particular thought for too long feels a little like poking an open wound, so Yamato walls it off, sliding the door to the room he’s been investigating closed behind him as if he could trap his uncomfortable thoughts there, too.

He’s just settled down with a book, plucked randomly from the shelf and hopefully a different genre than Kakashi’s typical reading material, when there’s a knock at the door. 

Yamato stays put – it’s not his house, after all – but then the pounding continues and he hears someone shouting his name.

“Captain Yamato, it’s me! Kakashi-sensei said you would be here, let me in! I don’t want to break his house, but I will!” Sakura hollers from the front porch. 

Yamato thinks about ignoring her, unsure if he’s ready to face the rest of his team yet, but he knows Sakura’s threats are serious, has witnessed her punching her way into Naruto’s apartment one too many times to think she’s exaggerating. After considering that for a moment, he’s up in an instant.

“Please don’t break anything on my account, Sakura,” he says, opening the door. “This place is already falling apart, it doesn’t need your help.” 

“Sorry, Captain, I’ve been trying to wrangle Kakashi-sensei all week.” Sakura colors at the scolding but fixes him with a warm smile nonetheless. “It’s good to see you.” 

“It’s good to see you, too,” Yamato says, a little surprised to find he means it. “Here, come in and I’ll make you some coffee.”

She follows him into the kitchen and waits at the counter as he rummages through Kakashi’s cupboards. “Sorry,” he calls over his shoulder, “I don’t really know where anything is yet.” 

Eventually he produces two ancient, mismatched mugs. Sakura cradles hers gratefully, letting out a contented sigh as she sips at it. “You’re a lifesaver, Captain, I’ve been on rotations all night.” 

Yamato winces sympathetically. “It’s my pleasure. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, did Kakashi-sensei not tell you? I’ve been checking on his eye, and he suggested I just loop you into my rounds since you’re staying with him.” Yamato nods, remembering the conversation. 

“Well, how are you feeling, then?” she asks, and Yamato pauses. He wants to lie to her, reassure her that he’s fine, really, but – she’s not just a kid under his watch anymore. She doesn’t need him to lie to her, in fact she’d probably be angry if he did. 

“I’ve… been better,” he eventually settles on. Maybe not the whole truth, but not outright false, either.

She fixes him with a hard stare. “Tsunade said you were having trouble with your mokuton.”

He sighs, because of course Tsunade wouldn’t have let that detail remain unspoken no matter how much he doesn’t want to talk about it. “That’s right,” he admits a little reluctantly, looking down at where his fingers are wrapped around his mug. There’s a chip on the rim, and he absently runs his thumb over it. “But there’s nothing to be done about it at the moment. Hinata looked at it earlier this morning, there’s nothing wrong with my chakra that would stop me from using it. It’s just—me.”

He looks up hesitantly, expecting pity, but when he meets Sakura’s eyes all he sees is understanding.

“I don’t think anyone will blame you if you need to take some time, Captain,” she says softly. “Everyone has a lot to process, you know?” 

Yamato just hums, unconvinced, and they sit quietly for a moment before Sakura shakes her head as if to clear it and move onto less fraught conversational ground. “Anyways, I came to do a check-up, but I also want you to know upfront that I’m not clearing you for field duty for at least a week, so there’s no need to pretend to be feeling better than you are.” 

Yamato resists the urge to chuckle at her stern tone. “Don’t worry, Sakura, unlike some of our teammates I actually listen to medical professionals.” 

“Good,” she says, “that’s a refreshing change. To be honest, it might be even longer before you can go back to A-ranks, you lost a lot of muscle while you were – well. You’ll need to build it back, that’s all. But don’t try to take it too fast, alright? You can’t rush things like that.”

Yamato has to resist the urge to sag with unexpected relief. He’s surprised by how much he’s unconsciously been dreading going back in the field, having to admit to his peers that he’s lost one of Konoha’s most prized jutsu. If he’s not cleared, no one needs to know about his failures just yet. 

“Alright,” he says, then, “you won’t… tell anyone, will you? About… this.” 

“Of course not, Captain,” Sakura responds, sympathetic. “Tsunade is already aware of the situation, and I’m assuming Kakashi-sensei is as well. They’re the only ones who really need to know.”

Yamato looks away at that, and when he chances a look back Sakura’s eyes are narrowed, assessing. 

“Captain,” she says, “you _did_ tell him, right?” 

“Not… exactly.” He trails off, bracing for a lecture, but Sakura just sighs.

“Alright. If you don’t want him to know, I won’t bring it up. Since you’re not going back into the field yet I suppose he doesn’t need to know right away. But you’ll have to either fix it or tell him before you start again, alright? I trust you to work that out on your own.” He can feel the disapproval practically radiating off her in waves, but she doesn’t lecture him any further. “Now, come here so I can do my job.”

\--

Sakura finishes her coffee with one last gulp before standing to go. 

“You should be ok to do some light training, Captain, but seriously, don’t push yourself!” she calls as she leaves, presumably to go pass out somewhere until her next shift. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Yamato just raises a hand in acknowledgement, not bothering to get up from his seat at the table. All of Sakura’s tests and exercises have left him surprisingly drained, and he frowns to himself, a little embarrassed by how weak he’s become. 

He ought to make dinner as a thank you for Kakashi for letting him stay, but he’s seen the state of Kakashi’s pantry and any cooking would require leaving, facing the world. On his own it seems like a little too much – he imagines the weight of the stares on him, the angry whispers from people who’ve suffered a loss he’s responsible for. He would deserve it, he knows, but he doesn’t want to face up to it just yet.

And the market is too large, too busy; he’s too weak to defend himself if he needs to – better to stay inside for now, behind Kakashi’s wards where he’s safe.

He scrubs a hand over his face in frustration, feeling ridiculous. They’re all excuses, and he knows it. 

He’s on his feet, one hand over the doorknob, when he realizes that he can’t seem to catch his breath. There’s a low rushing in his ears, a tightness in his chest. His stomach turns uncomfortably. 

He resists the sudden urge to slam his fist into the wall, instead resting his forehead against the door until his pulse stops thudding in his ears and his legs feel steady again. 

One more day, he thinks. One more day.

\--

Yamato wakes to the sound of clattering dishes from the kitchen.

Kakashi is over the stove, stirring what looks to be some type of soup. Yamato feels a rush of guilt at making him cook when he’s just spent the whole day sleeping, even though whatever Kakashi’s making smells delicious. 

“Can I help, senpai?” he asks, stepping into the kitchen.

“Oh, awake already? No, it’s almost done.” Kakashi turns and fixes him with another oddly soft smile. “You could get some bowls, though?”

Dinner is a quiet affair – Yamato too caught up in his thoughts to be good conversation, and Kakashi content to sit in silence. Sitting there, somehow, Yamato’s earlier conviction that he couldn’t tell Kakashi the truth about his mokuton seems silly, a little juvenile, and he feels almost like the truth is bubbling up to spill out of him, out of his control.

He clenches his fists under the table, back ramrod straight and head bowed. “Senpai,” he starts, bowing his head so he doesn’t have to meet Kakashi’s eyes, “I owe you an apology.”

“Oh?” Kakashi’s voice is light, and somehow it makes Yamato feel even worse.

“I… lied to you earlier,” he forces out. “About my mokuton – it’s – it’s not going to come back on its own. There’s nothing stopping me from using it. Well, nothing aside from me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth, before.”

Kakashi doesn’t say anything, and when Yamato looks up he sees the other man’s eyes have widened slightly.

“Tenzō,” he starts, and Yamato tenses, staring back down at the table. “I’m impressed. I think that’s the shortest lie you’ve ever told me.” 

Yamato freezes, cautiously looking up to see that Kakashi is grinning at him, a sly, teasing smile. “Senpai?” 

“You’re a very bad liar, Tenzō.” At Yamato’s noise of protest he holds up a hand, still amused. “Honestly, after all this time it would be a little embarrassing if I couldn’t tell when you were hiding something, don’t you think?”

(Because of course Kakashi knew – Sakura came back and gave her report and she only looked a little guilty as she lied to him, and Kakashi almost could have believed her except he remembers Rin, and the aftermath, and how he couldn’t use his chidori properly for _weeks._ How he threw up on the training field every night, stumbled through the days in a fog. He sees in Tenzō’s eyes the same quiet desperation that he saw every time he looked in a mirror, back then and sometimes even now – of course he knew.)

Yamato just huffs at him, irritated. “You could have said something, you know.” 

“I could have. But I knew you’d bring it up when you were ready,” Kakashi says, shrugging. Yamato frowns, somehow relieved and annoyed at the same time. 

A silence hangs in the air, thick and heavy. Kakashi looks like he’s thinking hard about something, and Yamato doesn’t want to interrupt him – at any rate, he isn’t sure what he’d say. Eventually, though, Kakashi takes in a deep breath.

“There was a time when I couldn’t use chidori, you know,” he says, almost casually. 

Yamato doesn’t drop his spoon, but it’s a near thing. “R-really?”

Kakashi nods. “Ah, that’s right, it was before we’d met.” It’s unfathomable to Yamato, the idea of Kakashi without the chidori. It comes so naturally to the other man that it’s almost automatic, now, as much a part of Kakashi as Yamato’s mokuton is – was – part of him. 

And suddenly Yamato understands why Kakashi has been so understanding, how Kakashi would have known without being told that it wouldn’t get better on its own. 

It’s a personal thing for Kakashi to admit, and Yamato realizes that for all his tone may be casual, Kakashi is tense, his wiry form wound tight as if he might need to make an escape at any moment – and really, given Kakashi’s typical aversion to emotionally frank conversations, he may do just that.

Kakashi evidently interprets his silence as disbelief.

“It’s true. I didn’t tell a soul. You might be the first person I’ve ever told, actually, although I’m sure Minato-sensei had some idea. He was perceptive like that,” Kakashi says, gaze far away, and that admission is a shot through Yamato’s heart. It aches, to think of Kakashi – he would have been so young, Yamato realizes, he hadn’t been that old when they first met – dealing with something like this on his own. “It was… after Rin. I just – couldn’t, somehow.” 

Rin, at least, Yamato knows, has heard Kakashi wake up choking out her name ,rough and desperate in the middle of the night, too many times to count. “How did you… get it back?” Yamato asks, hesitant.

“I forced it,” Kakashi admits, looking down at the table. “I buried everything, and I made myself stop thinking about her, and I trained until I could block it out long enough for a fight.”

Yamato doesn’t know what to say, can’t stop thinking of Kakashi, all of thirteen years old and doing his utmost to turn himself into a machine.

Kakashi meets his eye again, and he must see something there because he gives Yamato a rueful look. “Look, I never said it was _healthy.”_

That admission startles a huff of laughter out of Yamato, somehow. “I don’t think anyone has ever argued we’re especially healthy, senpai.”

Kakashi grins at him before his expression drops into something more serious. “I mean it, though. There was still a war on, back then. I didn’t have much of a choice. You do.” 

Yamato’s breath catches in his throat. “It still feels – too close. Like I can’t trust that we could have peace, after all this time.” 

“You’re not alone in that,” Kakashi says. “I think the only person who fully believes it’s going to last is Naruto – sometimes I wonder if the only reason it’s happening at all is that he’s too stubborn for anyone to argue with.” 

“He makes me feel like a cynical old man,” Yamato admits, and Kakashi chuckles.

“He’s been making me feel ancient since I was twenty-six, Tenzō, I know the feeling. But really – it feels different, this time. Like it really could stick around.” He pauses for a moment, waits until Yamato meets his eyes. “So there’s no rush. You can do things in your own time. Let me give you some decent advice for once, hm?”

“…Alright,” Yamato says. He still can’t quite banish his uncertainty, but Kakashi’s expression is honest, open. “Yeah. Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'futile devices' by sufjan stevens is the most powerful kkyam song i've ever heard just fyi and i DO have it on loop whenever i'm writing this (jk there's a whole playlist bc i have zero self control)


	3. iii. epicormic

_[epicormic / epiˈkôrmik / (of a shoot or branch) growing from the old wood of trees, especially after injury or fire]_

Yamato’s scrubbing the kitchen floor the next afternoon when he hears a knock at the door. 

“Come on in, Sakura. Did you forget something?” he calls out over his shoulder. 

“Uh,” a voice that is decidedly not Sakura’s says. Yamato turns around to see Naruto at the door, hands in his pockets in feigned nonchalance. 

“Hi, Captain Yamato,” he says, grinning. “What’re you doing?”

“Naruto, it’s good to see you,” Yamato says, throwing the sponge in a bucket as he straightens. “Were you looking for Kakashi? I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment.”

“No, I was looking for you, actually,” Naruto answers, clapping a hand behind his neck. “I just... well, I was looking for you. Plus Iruka-sensei told me to get out of his hair,” he finishes, a little sheepish. 

Yamato raises one eyebrow. “So you thought you’d come over here and pester me instead?”

Naruto blanches at that, frantically waving his hands. “No, no, I wouldn’t! I just, ah, hadn’t seen you, ya know? Please don’t make any weird faces I just came to say hello I can go if you want—” 

Ordinarily Yamato would try to keep a straight face, to better uphold the commanding presence he thinks a captain ought to have – but he’s not on duty right now, and he’s never been able to maintain any air of authority around Naruto, anyways. 

“I’m kidding, Naruto, of course you’re always welcome to visit,” he chuckles, waving a hand in front of his face. 

“Really? Are you sure?” 

“Yes, I mean it. I seem to have found myself with a lot of free time, all of a sudden,” he says, gesturing to the cleaning supplies. 

“Come on, Captain, I’m sure you could’ve come up with something more fun than _cleaning someone else’s house._ ” Naruto pulls a face, making his distaste clear. 

Yamato smiles at that. “Maybe. But I don’t mind it. Or did you have a better idea?”

“We—ll,” Naruto hedges, suddenly not making eye contact. 

This is a face Yamato knows well, and although he has no doubt that Iruka really did tell Naruto to make himself scarce for the afternoon, he suspects that there’s at least some underlying motive here, too.

“Naruto.” 

“Okay, okay! I was just wondering if, maybe, you could teach me how to cook a little bit? It’s just that I wanted to make Iruka-sensei dinner but he said he was tired of ramen but I don’t know how to make anything else and I remembered that you cooked sometimes and—”

Yamato smiles, cutting him off. “Yes, alright, I can teach you. I only know the basics, though – if you want anything fancy you’d want to ask Kakashi, I think.” 

Naruto looks a little skeptical at that, but fixes Yamato with a wide, beaming grin all the same. “Alright, Captain! I knew I could count on you. What should we make?” 

He goes to fling open the cupboard and Yamato remembers with a sinking feeling just how _empty_ it is.

“Ah, Naruto, wait—”

“Hey, what are you and Kakashi-sensei eating? This thing is empty!”

Yamato sighs. “Sorry, I forgot. It looks like we’ll have to do this another time.” 

“What? Why? Let’s just go to the market, I’m sure we’ll find something that looks good there,” Naruto says, oblivious to Yamato’s sudden tension.

Yamato hesitates. There’s no real reason he can’t go out, just his own reluctance, the lingering anxiety over what the rest of Konoha must know by now about his failures and how they must feel about it. Somehow he doubts that Naruto, with his unrelenting optimism, would accept that as an answer. 

But he doesn’t have a chance to come up with a better excuse – Naruto has grabbed his arm and is tugging him out the door before he has even a moment to think.

\--

Naruto’s hands are clasped behind his neck as they walk through the village – the very picture of easy, casual relaxation, although he keeps breaking the pose to gesture wildly through his nonstop stream of stories. Yamato is only half-listening to him; he’s still tense about going out, even if Naruto’s chatter is helping to take the edge off. 

But the hate-filled stares Yamato has been dreading never come. Mostly, people ignore him – they’re much more interested in calling out joyful greetings to Naruto, asking how he’s doing and clapping him on the back as he passes by. The civilians they run into hardly look Yamato’s way, and the few shinobi that greet him as they pass seem more glad to see him out of the hospital than anything else, certainly not resentful or angry.

By the time they reach the market he feels a strange combination of relief at the realization that no one here is at least outwardly hateful and embarrassment that he ever thought they would be. 

It’s good to see Naruto happy, he realizes – gratifying to see him finally accepted by the village, to see him with all of the weight of the war, and Sasuke, and his responsibilities as a jinchuuriki, lifted from his shoulders. He’s grown up since Yamato last saw him, no doubt the impact of the battlefield – but there’s a lightness there too, even more than before. No wonder everyone seems so glad to see him. His hopeful energy is just as contagious as Kakashi had said. 

They’re picking through vegetables (which Yamato had insisted on, over Naruto’s protests – clearly not everything about him had changed) when Yamato realizes that he doesn’t feel queasy anymore, that he’s breathing even. 

The market is bustling around them, and, head cleared, Yamato can finally look around, _really_ look, and see _peace_. His breath catches in his throat for a moment, at the sheer joy around them. The underlying tension of a shinobi village that he grew up with, that’s been present his entire life, even in times of tentative peace between the nations – it hasn’t disappeared entirely, but it’s less powerful than he can ever remember. 

_This_ is why Kakashi feels so unexpectedly hopeful about the possibility of peace, he realizes, why he smiles when he talks about the future, now. It’s not just Naruto; the whole village seems lighter. Maybe the whole world. 

Yamato doesn’t know if he feels the same – there’s still a weight, there, the same way he suspects there is for everyone who lost something in the war. But seeing the village this way—

Something loosens in his chest, just a fraction, a tightness he hadn’t even realized was there. He ducks his head, blinking hard.

“Uh,” Naruto says, hesitant, “Captain? You’re staring at that cabbage like, really hard, is there something wrong with it?”

“No,” he says, fighting the urge to laugh because he knows he might cry, “no, it’s fine. It’s perfect.”

\--

Naruto is a surprisingly good student in the kitchen – but then he’s always learned better by doing, Yamato muses. His first attempt at a stir fry goes up in smoke, but he catches on quickly, and by the time Kakashi gets home the scent of burnt vegetables has mostly faded. 

Kakashi, of course, with his annoyingly accurate sense of smell, notices immediately; his nose twitches beneath the mask and he raises an eyebrow at Yamato when they make eye contact. Yamato just shrugs and turns his attention back to where Naruto is putting the finishing touches on their meal. 

“Well, haven’t you two have been busy? It smells—” Kakashi grunts as Yamato elbows him in the stomach— “great, it smells really great.” 

“Really, Kakashi-sensei? Alright!” Naruto turns to Yamato, beaming. “You’ll write down the recipe for me, right?”

“Of course,” Yamato says, feeling a genuine smile creep up onto his features. “Anytime, Naruto.”

\--

Naruto’s energy doesn’t diminish even as they sit down to dinner. He keeps up a steady stream of questions for Kakashi throughout the night – if he’s heard anything from Gaara (he hasn’t), whether “that old man in Iwagakure” is still holding off on the trade deal (he is), what it’s like being Hokage (“Boring,” Kakashi says, and Naruto kicks him under the table).

Yamato keeps quiet, mostly, letting their bickering wash over him and only really chiming in to dutifully serve as a distraction whenever Kakashi looks like he wants to sneak a bite. He’s not sure why they’ve kept up the charade after all this time – any of Team 7’s members could have seen under the mask by now if they really wanted to – but even though Naruto gives a pained howl every time he realizes Kakashi has wolfed down another mouthful, Yamato suspects they enjoy the game more than either would ever let on. 

He should scold them both, for being so rowdy at the table, but instead he finds he can’t quite keep the smile off his face.

\--

(Kakashi catches Naruto’s eye when Tenzō leaves the room for a moment, offering a nod and a quiet thanks. Naruto grins, wide, and shoots him a thumbs up.

“You bet, sensei,” Naruto whispers, “he’s our teammate too, you know!” 

Kakashi thinks back to Tenzō’s initial reports on Team 7 – the way he bemoaned how suspicious they were of him, how convinced he’d been that they only saw him as a poor substitute for their _real_ team leader – and gives into temptation, leaning over to fondly ruffle Naruto’s hair and ignoring his confused yelp.)

\--

It’s late when Naruto finally leaves, painstakingly detailed recipe notes tucked carefully in his pocket like the most precious of cargos. He lets in a rush of cool air as he opens the door to the inky darkness outside, and is halfway out the door when he catches himself and turns back. 

“Really, though, you’re alright?” Naruto’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, a little hesitant, and Yamato feels a rush of affection towards the young man and his obvious concern.

“Yeah, Naruto. I’m – I’ll be alright,” he says, and is surprised to find himself believing it, just a bit. “It’s… not the same as before, I guess. But I’ll be fine.” 

“I’m glad,” Naruto says, voice low. He claps a hand on Yamato’s shoulder and meets his eyes with a bright smile. “I’m so glad, Captain Yamato.” 

And with that he’s off, one hand thrown up in a wave as he disappears into the night. Yamato stands on the porch a moment longer, closing his eyes and lingering in the warmth of the evening. He wonders at how quickly Naruto has matured, at the new gravity of his presence, how different he is from the unruly, boundlessly energetic teen Yamato first met. 

“When did he grow up so much?” he questions aloud, half to himself. 

“He’s done us all proud,” Kakashi murmurs from where he’s come to the door behind him. Yamato hums in agreement, eyes still fixed in the direction Naruto had gone, as if he could see him walking home through the night, safe and alive and _changed,_ if he only looked a little harder. “Are you coming in?” 

“In a minute, maybe.” Kakashi doesn’t say anything, but Yamato feels a hand on his shoulder, a thumb stroking the base of his neck in silent acknowledgement. The heat from the brief moment of contact remains, even after Kakashi has turned to go in. 

It’s an unusually tactile gesture, for Kakashi, and Yamato isn’t quite sure how to interpret it, so he doesn’t try. He’ll go in soon, he thinks, but the cool night air is fresh against his face and he wants to bask in the lightness of the afternoon a while longer, wants to hold tight to how he feels calm in a way he hasn’t in a long time.

He’s still trying to place that warmth as he drifts off that night – it’s a little like happiness, maybe, but quieter, less insistent; could be contentment, or peace. The right word eludes him, but eventually, in the half-awake moment just before sleep claims him, he decides it might be something like hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "hey wasn't this supposed to be kkyam?" you might be asking and you know what. that's valid. longer update next time~


	4. iv. scandent

_[scandent / ˈskan-dənt / climbing, by whatever means]_

Yamato can’t stop looking at Kakashi’s hair. He’s trying not to stare, but he can’t help but sneak glances at him out of the corner of his eye.

His sleep schedule has been erratic, these past few days. Somehow he’s exhausted no matter what he does, so he spends most of his days half asleep, dozing on and off between meals and Sakura’s regular visits. He mentions it to her one day, unsure if he should do anything about it, but she just smiles gently at him, reminding him that the best thing he can possibly be doing right now is letting his body rest and recover, and that the only reason it feels wrong to him is that shinobi culture places too much value on having an unhealthy work ethic and no sense of self-preservation. 

(She glares pointedly at Kakashi as she says that last part, but he’s very determinedly focused on a scroll and pretends not to hear.) 

Between Kakashi’s long days in the office and Yamato’s own inconsistent sleep schedule, they really haven’t seen each other all that much outside of meals. He hardly ever catches Kakashi in the mornings – the other man gets up at the crack of dawn to pay his respects at the memorial stone before truly starting his day – but he’d woken early this morning, jolting awake to sour, sweat-soaked sheets and his pulse thundering in his ears, and given up on going back to sleep when he smelled coffee brewing.

Maybe the rarity of the situation is why he’s so struck by the sight of Kakashi’s hair right now.

It’s sticking up in the back, one side flattened from where it had been stuck to the pillow, and for all that Kakashi’s hair is usually a barely contained mess this is… different, somehow. Softer. 

They’ve been on countless missions together, slept in the same barracks for years. But Yamato doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Kakashi quite like this, still only half awake and rumpled from sleep. He’s leaned up against the counter waiting for the coffee to finish, pale morning light just barely starting to catch in silver strands as it spills through the kitchen window. 

Yamato is struck with the sudden urge to run his fingers through Kakashi’s hair, to tame messy strands into something resembling a hairstyle more than a mop. 

It reminds him of being young again, on Team Ro and inexplicably drawn to Kakashi, needing to be near him all the time. He’d thought that impulse was behind him, something he’d grown out of as he became less isolated in the village, but — maybe not, not when he can’t tear his eyes away from Kakashi’s softly-lit silhouette.

He’s beautiful, Yamato thinks, unbidden, then stiffens when he realizes that Kakashi’s eyes are on him and the other man has almost certainly noticed his staring. 

“What?” Kakashi asks through a yawn, “don’t make that face at me so early in the morning, Tenzō.” 

“Sorry,” Yamato says, “just thinking.” 

Kakashi raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t press him. 

“It’s too early for that, too. Here, come with me,” he says, picking up his mug and walking out of the kitchen. Yamato hesitates, confused, but when Kakashi turns to look back impatiently he rolls his eyes and follows. 

When Kakashi walks out the front door, though, Yamato stops. 

“Senpai, what are you doing?” 

Kakashi tilts his head in a perfect imitation of forgetfulness. “Well, it’s a bit stuffy in the house. I thought we might take a walk,” he says. Yamato doesn’t believe him for a minute, and tells him so. 

“What,” Kakashi says, “does everything I do have an ulterior motive?”

“Yes,” Yamato interrupts without hesitation. Kakashi places a hand on his chest, slumping over in feigned injury. 

“Maybe I just want to go outside. You’re so suspicious, Tenzō,” he whines. 

Yamato just frowns, eyes narrowed. “You always have a motive,” he says plainly. “And besides, if you were actually going for a walk you’d have gotten dressed first, I hope.”

Kakashi laughs at him, a puff of breath visible in the cold morning air. “Alright, you caught me. But really, we’re not going far.” 

Still suspicious, Yamato follows him down the trail towards the front gate, tugging his robe tighter around his shoulders in an attempt to ward off the morning’s chill. Kakashi had told the truth about not going far, at least – he comes to a stop at the main gate and looks at Yamato expectantly. 

“Kakashi..?” 

“Hold out your hand for a second, yeah?” 

Yamato hesitates for a moment, still not sure what Kakashi’s after, but eventually he rolls his eyes and sticks his hand out in Kakashi’s general direction—

And tries to yank it back almost immediately as Kakashi grabs his wrist and he feels the prick of a kunai at the tip of his thumb. 

“Hey! What—” Yamato yelps as Kakashi presses his hand to the cornerstone of the exterior wall. “Where did you even get that?” 

He glares at Kakashi, finally succeeding in pulling his hand back and shooting him a wounded look as he tries to work out where exactly Kakashi had been keeping a kunai in his bathrobe. 

Kakashi, for his part, offers no explanation.

“Hey, I’m serious! What was that for, Kakashi?”

“It was—I just. Added you to the wards. That’s all,” Kakashi says, looking away. 

Yamato freezes, caught off guard. The Hatake clan may no longer have the size or reputation it once did, but still – to be added to a clan’s wards is something typically reserved for family. Even Kakashi, who has never paid much heed to clan traditions, would take that seriously. 

Yamato knows he ought to say something, but he can’t get the words out, instead stands with his mouth half-open, staring at Kakashi. 

“I just thought, well, if you were going to be staying here it would make sense for them to know you,” Kakashi mutters. He still won’t meet Yamato’s eyes. 

Yamato is still speechless, can feel himself gaping. 

“Kakashi—”

“Not—not that you have to stay. You don’t. But. Just—you could, if you wanted to.” His eyes are wide, like he’s surprised at his own words, and there’s a flush rising high on his cheekbones. 

Yamato looks at the ground, unable to meet Kakashi’s gaze any longer. “I’d like that, I think. To stay.” 

There’s a sharp inhale from in front of him, then a soft gust of air. When Yamato looks up again, Kakashi is gone, a faint wisp of smoke the only sign he’d been there at all.

\--

(Kakashi opens his eyes and he’s in the Hokage’s office – his office, he reminds himself, it still doesn’t feel real – with the faint scent of smoke dissipating around him. That hadn’t gone how he’d expected, he’d said too much and now Tenzō was bound to be uncomfortable. It’s just that something in the way Tenzō had been looking at him in the kitchen had given him a confidence he didn’t have and now he’s moved too fast and he’s _still wearing a bathrobe—_

There’s a soft knock at the door and Kakashi is too frozen to say anything before the door opens, revealing Iruka with a pile of paperwork; if he’s surprised to see Kakashi there, half-dressed and a little shell-shocked, he very politely pretends not to be.)

\--

\--

\--

It’s about time he starts training again, Yamato decides – for all Sakura’s insistence that this is a normal healing process and he shouldn’t rush it, the inactivity is making him fidgety and the thought of another day spent napping on the couch is suddenly unappealing.

It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the way he’s still full of nervous, flustered energy after his conversation with Kakashi that morning, or how exercise has always helped him clear his head.

He’s running through katas in the yard when he realizes he’s not alone, that if he concentrates he can feel a faint presence at the edge of the field. 

It feels more familiar than threatening, so he ignores it, instead focusing on the final sequences and trusting that whoever it is will be content to wait. 

Even if he’s a little wobbly in some of the more demanding forms, it feels good to be active, to feel the pull at his muscles and the burning in his lungs. It’s easy, to slide back into the comfortable routine of training. 

But he still has a long way to go – he sits in the shade for a moment to catch his breath, a sheen of sweat on his forehead after only a few sets of katas. 

Someone drops from the tree, landing on the grass beside him on silent feet. 

“I hope you won’t judge my form too harshly,” Yamato says, turning his head lazily to where Sai is crouched next to him. 

“Of course not, Captain,” Sai says, a half-real smile on his face. “It’s only reasonable to expect you to be weak after being out of commission for so long. And you’re not so young anymore, so you can’t be expected to bounce back as quickly.” 

Yamato winces, but the corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile – Sai’s blunt nature is almost refreshing in the face of everyone else’s quiet concern. 

“Humor an old man, then, and help me get back in shape.” He’s mostly caught his breath, so a spar doesn’t feel too out of reach, and Sai seems in the mood to oblige, even with Sakura’s taijutsu-only restrictions.

\--

A spar is, in fact, out of reach – although not as far as Yamato had feared. Still, he’s panting when he waves Sai off, signaling his surrender, and he flops back into the shade with a frustrated huff.

“Thank you for the fight,” Sai murmurs, looking irritatingly unruffled as he comes to sit beside him. 

Yamato snorts. “Sorry I couldn’t put up more of a challenge. But thank you, Sai. It’s good to move again.” 

They lapse into a comfortable silence. It’s one of the things he likes best about Sai, Yamato muses – he doesn’t feel the need to talk just for talking’s sake. 

There’s a soft breeze and the sun is warm on his face where it filters through the trees. They’re far enough from the center of Konoha that it’s quiet, the sounds of the village just barely audible over birdsong and rustling branches. A person could fall asleep here, he thinks, with the afternoon soaking into their skin. 

“Does it bother you?” Sai’s voice is soft, but it breaks the silence regardless. “Being here, I mean. Not in the field.”

Yamato hums, thinking. “I don’t know. Maybe it would have, before. But it’s not so bad.”

Sai nods once, as if to himself. “What have you been doing, then? Since you haven’t been training.” 

From anyone else it would have been an insult; from Sai, Yamato recognizes the statement for what it is. 

“Sleeping, mostly. Starting to fix up the house, where I can. Reading, some.” That draws a rare, expressive look.

“Kakashi’s books? Maybe you need a hobby, Captain,” Sai says, eyebrows arched delicately upwards. 

“Not those. Besides, it’s been…” he trails off. It hasn’t been good, not exactly. But it’s been what he needed, even if he hadn’t known it at first. “…Restful,” is what he eventually settles on. 

Sai frowns slightly, as if he’s never considered the idea before. He probably hasn’t, Yamato realizes – he remembers all too well the relentless pace of Root; it had taken him years after leaving to accept that he could take a moment to come up for air sometimes. He gives Sai a minute to turn the idea over in his mind.

“That seems… good,” Sai eventually concludes. 

“You should try it sometime,” Yamato suggests. “A trip with Naruto and Sakura, maybe.” 

Sai snorts, but Yamato can see him thinking it over as they fall back into silence.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come by before now.” 

It’s an unexpected apology, barely voiced, and Yamato turns to look at Sai. He hasn’t moved a muscle, is still stretched out staring at the sky, but there’s an awkward edge to his voice that tells him this is genuine. 

“Sakura was upset with me, that I didn’t come visit while you were in the hospital,” he continues. “She said she was very disappointed. But I couldn’t just—I didn’t want to intrude.” 

Yamato’s breath catches in his throat as he’s suddenly reminded of his first few months in Team Ro, how he could never bring himself to visit Kakashi in the hospital even when he desperately wanted to, even if he _needed_ to see that he was alright. What business did he have there, he’d always thought – surely his presence, his silence and blank eyes, could only make the rest of the tightly-knit unit uncomfortable. Better to look in through the window, he’d told himself, to see Kakashi was alive and then leave the _real_ members of the team alone. 

He doesn’t remember what changed, exactly, just that something had. But he knows the feeling all too well, still feels it lurking under his skin on bad days.

“You don’t need to apologize, Sai,” Yamato cuts him off, before Sai can get too far in admonishing himself. “I wouldn’t have been very good company, anyways.”

Sai doesn’t say anything, just continues staring up into the sky.

“But,” Yamato starts, and Sai turns to look at him as if he hadn’t been expecting him to say any more, “you wouldn’t have been intruding.” 

There’s a slow, shaky exhale from beside him, just barely audible over the breeze.

“And,” he adds after a moment’s hesitation, “you still wouldn’t be, if you happened to come over for dinner every now and then. It seems I’ve been roped into teaching Naruto how to cook, if you feel brave enough to eat his cooking.” 

Finally, Sai gives him a rare smile, unpracticed and crooked.

All Sai’s goading of Naruto and Sakura is mostly, Yamato suspects, just getting under their skin to prove to himself that he _can,_ that it’s possible for other people to have a reaction to him, that he’s not so easy to overlook. To prove that people _see_ him. Suspects that underneath his blunt, callous exterior, there’s a thoughtful young man still readjusting to the world.

But maybe he’s just projecting. 

He’s not sure how long they lie there, lazily watching the clouds roll overhead, but eventually Sai stands, nodding his goodbye and giving Yamato another shy smile before he turns to go.

\--

He’s not sure why, but Sai’s words, offhand as they’d been, linger the rest of the afternoon, a persistent itch at the back of his mind. 

_”Maybe you need a hobby, Captain,”_ he’d said, and Yamato can’t quite shake the thought.

He’d had one, before – although he hadn’t fully realized how closely tied to his work his interest in architecture had been. But the thought of designing new buildings that he’d be unable to create is embarrassing, somehow. He tries to recall the last thing he’d designed – a structure built primarily underground and easily camouflaged, he’d been thinking of ways to keep people safe if the war had gone south and they needed to hide – and even the idea of creating it, of forming hand signs and channeling chakra through his palms, leaves an uneasy churning in his stomach.

Now that Sai’s pointed it out, even unintentionally, Yamato can’t get it out of his mind. He does need something to do; the house is too empty during the day, too quiet. He’s slept long enough. Even if he can’t train the way he used to, at least not yet, it would be good to do feel productive.

He’s still brooding on it when Kakashi gets home, and spends most of the night lost in thought, the morning’s revelations pushed almost entirely from his mind. Even the next morning, when he’s out doing the shopping, he’s still half-aware of it. 

He’s headed home when a market stall catches his eye; it’s small, but packed to bursting with plants. There are cut flowers and bouquets arranged throughout the stall, and trays of seedlings laid out on the ground in front of it. Hanging baskets dripping with ivy hang from the rafters, and inside the stall are smaller terrariums of succulents, and window baskets of herbs.

He stops, stock-still in the middle of the street. His eye has always just skipped over this shop, tucked away from the main stretch of stalls, but he looks at it and something clicks, something about the calm he’d felt laying on his back in the forest the day before, listening to leaves rustled by wind and smelling the soil beneath his head. 

It’s impulsive, but Yamato walks home with his wallet lighter, his arms full of plants, and quiet excitement buzzing under his skin.

\--

He spends the rest of the morning on his hands and knees in the dirt. There’s a space just in front of the main house that looks like it might have been a garden, once, although it’s long overgrown; Yamato yanks out weeds and trims back unruly rhododendrons as the sun climbs ever higher in the sky above him. 

By early afternoon, the worst of the weeds are gone, and Yamato starts planting. He didn’t think to buy a shovel so he uses his hands, scooping up small handfuls of earth before easing seedlings out of their trays, carefully loosening the roots and easing them into the ground. He gently presses the soil back into place around each new plant, relishing in the feeling of earth against his skin, warm and slightly damp.

It’s not glamorous. He’s sweaty and covered in dirt, can feel streaks of it along his skin from where he’s rubbed his face. His legs are cramped from kneeling so long in the soil. But the work is soothing, somehow; the simple repetition leaving his mind comfortably blank. 

It’s late afternoon by the time he comes back to himself, and the plot of land is showing the results of his labors. The rhododendron bushes along the porch are no longer threatening to overwhelm the small space – instead they’ve retreated to leave room for the other plants he’d bought, hostas and anemones and ferns so young they’re still tightly coiled. There are some mysteries, too, tiny plants with delicate leaves too small to identify that he’s eager to see grow. 

He could help them along a bit, he realizes, if he had the mokuton. Make them heartier, just in case it gets cold overnight. It’s a tempting thought; he’s protective of the seedlings now that they’re in the ground. 

But he even if he wanted to cheat that little bit, he couldn’t. It would still be a lost cause. He goes inside instead, makes a cup of tea and stares at it without drinking until the mug has cooled completely in his hands. 

The thing is, he’s been feeling better. The anxiety, the shame – it’s still there, curled deep in his stomach, but it’s smaller, now, feels less like it could bubble up unrestrained to the surface at a moment’s notice. 

He has to try.

Back in the garden, he kneels next to the smallest fern and says a silent prayer, looking skyward as he forms the hand signs that have become second nature to him and placing his hands on either side of the tiny, delicate plant. After one last, shallow breath he concentrates, and—

Gradually, leaf by leaf, the fiddlehead begins to unfurl. Yamato lets go of an anxiously held breath – it’s growing, it’s _working_ – each millimeter loosening something clenched tight in his chest. It’s as if time has come to a standstill, the only movement the slow, steady unrolling of fronds and Yamato’s heart fluttering in his throat.

But—

He’s not sure what goes wrong, just that suddenly the soil isn’t a comfort anymore, is no longer warm and earthy the way it had been that afternoon. It’s cold and smells of something rotting and acrid, unnatural. He’s overwhelmed by a sudden, stabbing fear; he recoils unthinkingly as the fern warps into something wooden and angular before his eyes. Breathing hard, he scrambles backwards to the steps of the porch on shaky legs.

Yamato could cry; instead he puts his head between his knees and focuses on breathing slowly through his nose until the sudden rush of nausea starts to dissipate. 

There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead but it’s different from the evidence of an afternoon’s hard work, sour and unpleasant against his skin. He clenches his eyes firmly shut and fists his hair in his hands, grounding himself in the sting of the tugging against his scalp. 

He’s not sure how long he sits like that, curled in on himself and shoulders heaving, but slowly, gradually, his breaths come slower and the prickling behind his eyelids starts to fade. 

When Yamato finally sits up, the garden looks – different. Changed. What had seemed so peaceful and full of potential by the light of day looks ugly and small in the cloudy evening light, and he’s embarrassed that he was excited to show this to Kakashi, ashamed all over again of his failings.

The plants are sad and small and wilted from the shock of being transplanted. There’s so much space between them that it’s more a spruced-up patch of dirt than a garden, and Yamato feels something clench in his chest, tight and disappointed. He’s struck with the sudden, childish urge to tear up everything he had planted that morning, kick it out of the ground and throw all the plants into a compost pile.

He doesn’t move, though, just sits there, stuck staring blankly at his shame. He wants to get up but can’t seem to force his legs to obey. The fern looms large before him, twisted and broken, an accusation.

\--

He’s still sitting motionless at the edge of the porch when Kakashi walks through the gate, hand lifted in greeting. He pauses at the edge of the path, arm falling to his side as he takes in the scene before him. Yamato gives him a weak smile, although he knows it’s unconvincing. 

“Welcome back,” he says, because he has to say something.

“I’m back,” Kakashi hums absently. “Busy day?”

Yamato shrugs, doesn’t respond. Kakashi doesn’t seem to mind, just comes to sit beside him on the porch. Their shoulders knock together as he sits, and Yamato can’t decide if he wants to flinch away or lean closer.

Neither says anything for a moment. Kakashi is clearly drawing his own conclusions – probably correct – about the afternoon’s events, and Yamato isn’t sure what he would say even if he wanted to talk. Then—

“There was a garden here when I was a child, too, I think. I remember it being beautiful,” Kakashi says, face unreadable. Yamato can’t quite meet his eyes. 

His heart sinks, guilty. “I’m sorry, Kakashi, I should have asked—” he starts, but Kakashi holds up a hand.

“No, you shouldn’t have,” he says simply. “I already told you, this can be your home, too. Besides, I’d much rather see the garden in full bloom rather than the patch of dirt it’s been all these years.”

Yamato doesn’t say anything, but he does look up to see Kakashi’s eyes on him, patient as ever and impossibly soft. The tips of his ears are pink but he keeps talking, never wavering from where his gaze is locked on Yamato’s.

“I like it, Tenzō. I’m sure your garden will grow into something beautiful. I can’t wait to see it.” It’s a simple statement, quietly spoken, but somehow it knocks all the air out of Yamato. 

He knows he should respond but he’s frozen, can’t move a muscle. Kakashi seems oblivious to the impact of his words. 

“You have dirt on your face,” he says, licking his thumb and swiping it across Yamato’s cheek almost automatically. Yamato can see the moment his actions register, can tell from the way Kakashi freezes for a split second and a blush rises high on his cheekbones. 

He can practically see Kakashi’s flight response kicking in, and suddenly he can’t stand the idea of him leaving. 

“Wait—I mean—don’t run away, this time,” Yamato blurts out, unthinking, hand darting out to grab Kakashi’s wrist as if that could prevent him from leaving. “Just. Stay? For a while?” 

Kakashi’s back is ramrod straight beside him, his shoulders stiff with tension. But he doesn’t move. 

Slowly, carefully, Yamato inches closer, until he can lean against Kakashi’s side the way he’s been wanting to since Kakashi sat down. 

It’s incremental, but the rigid line of Kakashi’s shoulders starts to relax until, with a sigh, the tension goes out of him and he sags into Yamato’s shoulder. 

“I wasn’t running away,” he mutters, petulant. “It was a… strategic regrouping.” 

Yamato just snorts, and, tension broken, they fall back into a comfortable silence.

Still, he keeps his fingers looped around Kakashi’s wrist, just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhh its 4am i don't know what to say for myself


	5. v. decorticate

_[decorticate / (dē-kôr′tĭ-kāt′) / to remove the bark, husk, or outer covering from]_

\--

It’s quiet when Yamato gets up. 

The Hatake compound, he’s learned, is always quiet, an almost preternatural stillness lingering in the hallways along with the musty smell of old wood. It can feel lonely, especially in the moments just as the dawn breaks or the sun sets, when it’s dark except for the faint light that illuminates every room with a cool glow. 

This morning, even that pale light is missing, replaced with grey skies and a soft patter against the roof. He’d left the window open last night, and an unseasonable cold seeps in through the open space. Tugging a blanket around his shoulders, he sits up, stretches, pauses to listen.

Many of the people he knows best dislike the rain, he’s learned. Sakura gripes about the way it soaks into her medical kits, Sai gets even more blunt than usual, tense about anything that could go wrong with his inks. Naruto grows uncharacteristically serious, thoughts on some distant time and place. Even Kakashi isn’t immune, though he’s subtler about it, pressing the back of his hand over his eye when he thinks no one is watching and moving fractionally slower, careful, as if there’s an ache somewhere he’s trying not to upset. 

But the rain softens Konoha, quiets the harsh noises and dulls the bright color palate to something gentler. Yamato has always found it soothing, even if he suspects he’s the odd one out. The grey skies make everything feel smaller, more contained. The clouds hide away the immense open space of the sky, still overwhelming on a clear day. It’s safe. Warm, almost. 

He likes watching the forest when it rains, likes seeing the gradual livening up of wilted leaves and the way the smaller boughs bend in the wind, strong and flexible in the face of a deluge. His own apartment had been too far into the city to see much of anything; really watching the storm had required actually going into the woods. But the Hatake compound is on the outskirts of town, and there’s a large, screened-in porch on the back of the house that’s nearly _in_ the forest, it’s so close. That, he thinks, finally moving from where he’s been staring out the sliver of his cracked window, could be a good place to spend a morning.

When he gets to the kitchen there’s coffee brewing, part of a familiar almost-routine, now. Kakashi has taken to starting the pot before he leaves for the memorial stone, and joining Yamato to watch the dawn break from the porch when he gets back. 

So it’s a surprise when, coffee in hand, Yamato walks on to the porch to find Kakashi already there, staring blankly into a mug cupped in both hands. He doesn’t look up at Yamato’s entrance, just sits, hunched over into himself. He looks smaller, somehow, diminished. 

His face isn’t visible in the dark, but there’s a heaviness to the air that puts Yamato on edge. 

Yamato is torn, unsure whether or not he should stay. It feels like an intrusion. But Kakashi must sense his hesitation, because he breaks the uncomfortable silence.

“It’s alright, Tenzō.” His voice is rough, and when he finally looks up there are deep shadows beneath his eyes. “You don’t have to leave.” 

It’s not exactly an invitation, but Yamato tentatively sits next to him, holding up the blanket in offering.

“You must be freezing, out here in just a robe,” he murmurs, not wanting to break the quiet. Kakashi doesn’t say anything, but doesn’t protest when Yamato sits close, draping the blanket around both of their shoulders.

Yamato isn’t sure how long they sit like that, the only sound the rain hitting the side of the house. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” he tries, unsure if Kakashi will respond.

He does, eventually. “The weather, I think. The change in pressure—it makes his eye ache, is all. Or—my eye, now, I suppose.” 

And oh, Yamato realizes, they’ve moved suddenly very far away from talking about the weather. 

“He would have been a better Hokage than me, you know that? He wanted it more than anything, when I knew him. More than I do.” 

“You’re a fine Hokage, Kakashi. You’re one of the most respected shinobi in the village, you were chosen for a reason,” Yamato starts.

Kakashi cuts him off with a harsh, choked laugh. “I’m a placeholder, until Naruto’s old enough. We all know that. I don’t resent it, but—I’m not under any illusions, either.”

He falls silent again, but the little he’s said is enough. Of course Kakashi had accepted, when Tsunade asked. He’s never been able to say no to Konoha, regardless of his own feelings. Yamato should have remembered that. 

After Pain’s attack on the village, when nobody had been certain Tsunade would wake up, Kakashi had spent an anxious week being whisked away to council meetings and appointments with the village elders, visible eye a little too wide with barely-contained horror. Yamato hadn’t known why, at the time, and hadn’t wanted to ask, assumed he didn’t want to talk about his near-death experience. It was months before Kakashi confided how close he’d been to being appointed Hokage. He hadn’t said it out loud, but it seemed to frighten him, the idea that people might look to _him_ for guidance. Before the war, too, when he’d been appointed a general, he’d seemed overwhelmed, almost terrified by the thought of holding so many lives in his hands. 

Despite all the ways it’s wronged him, Kakashi _loves_ Konoha, with all his heart. He will always do what’s needed, even if it stings, even if it means losing himself in the process. He’s been ready to die for Konoha since he was six; any other personal sacrifice is almost nothing, after that. Yamato remembers this all at once – he _knows_ this, is ashamed with himself for not realizing sooner.

They lapse into silence again, Kakashi lost in thought and Yamato still reeling from his sudden realization. Outside, the wind has picked up, whipping rain against the screen of the porch and spraying a fine, cold mist into the room. 

“Do you know, I keep wondering if I should chip his name out of the stone?” Yamato is sure Kakashi can feel his sharp inhale, the shock of it.

“Or move it, at least,” Kakashi continues, “the Hokage ought to be able to do that much, don’t you think?” He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “I keep wondering if he deserves to be remembered at all.” 

He pauses, takes a sip of coffee that Yamato is certain has long gone cold.

“Naruto tells me he saved your life,” he offers, once it’s clear Kakashi won’t speak again. 

There’s a strangled noise from next to him. 

“For all that’s worth,” Kakashi says, bitter. He continues before Yamato can protest. “It doesn’t make up for what he—he hurt so many people. He ruined lives, and maybe he didn’t know what he was doing at the beginning but by the end—he must have known.” He stops, frustrated. He’s gripping the cup so tightly his knuckles are white and Yamato wonders, absently, if he’ll break it.

“He hurt _you,_ Tenzō. You could have—I thought that—” Kakashi breaks off, stares out into the rain like he might find whatever answers he’s looking for in the chilly morning air. 

“I was ready for him to kill me. To die with him, fighting him. But in the end he left me behind all over again.”

Yamato doesn’t say anything – can’t say anything, doesn’t know what to say. He’s walked into something that seems too large for him, something that couldn’t have just bubbled up overnight. How long has Kakashi been ruminating on this, he wonders, and how could he not have seen?

“He died for me.” Kakashi’s voice cuts into his thoughts. “He died for me _twice,_ Tenzō, and I was—am—so _angry_ with him. He saved my life and he changed it, too, and I just—how do you reconcile that, with everything else he did?”

He sounds coldly furious, and exhausted, like he’s been turning this over in his head for weeks, more and more worked up until something brought him to his breaking point. More than anything, though, he sounds hurt. Devastated, really. He must be, to be sharing anything with Yamato. Kakashi has always been one to hold his own pain close to his chest.

Yamato wonders if his host knows how selfish he’s been, accepting help all this time and offering nothing in return. There’s something cold and heavy climbing into his ribcage, winding its way around his chest. It feels an awful lot like shame.

Beside him, Kakashi is still frozen. Yamato still can’t find the words so he just leans into Kakashi’s side, hopes he takes the gesture for the show of support it is. There’s another surge of gratitude for the rain; without it, the silence would be excruciating.

“He was a hero, to me,” Kakashi says, soft, like he’s ashamed to admit it. Yamato holds his breath. “And maybe he tried at the end, to be a hero again. But—to know that this whole time, he—I don’t know that I can forgive him.” 

It’s like all the air goes out of him, then; he looks crushed, staring at his coffee like he almost can’t believe he’s said anything out loud. 

Yamato hesitates, weighing his words. It’s painfully clear, now, how overwhelmed Kakashi is – overwhelmed by being forced into a role he’s certain he’s not fit for, by the still-healing wounds of the war, but mostly, he thinks, by Obito, the way his reappearance ripped open old wounds, the way it twisted someone so central, so foundational in Kakashi’s life into something more complicated. 

“Even if he did things wrong,” Yamato starts, careful, “that doesn’t stop you loving him, right?” 

There’s a brief moment where Kakashi doesn’t react at all, stays so still Yamato isn’t sure he’s heard. But then his eyes go wide, like he’s never considered it, never admitted it to himself.

“That’s—” Kakashi breaks off, something like a pained, shaky laugh making his shoulders tremble where they’re pressed against Yamato’s own. He presses the back of his hand to his forehead, takes a slow, steadying breath.

When he speaks again his voice is thick. “You always could see right through me, Tenzō.” 

The room is dark, so it’s hard to tell, but when Yamato glances sideways he thinks he catches Kakashi’s eyes shut tight, lashes wet.

He waits until Kakashi’s breathing has evened out, until he looks marginally less shattered, before saying anything more. 

“Can we go visit him, today? Together?” He’s never been to the stone with Kakashi, has always assumed he needed that time for himself. But there’s something in the sharp angle of his shoulders that makes Yamato think maybe he should have some company, today, and Kakashi doesn’t protest when Yamato follows him out the door.

\--

\--

\--

(For weeks, Kakashi has been trying to shake the feeling of being underwater, not sure which way is up. It’s been worse, lately, although he can’t seem to pinpoint the cause. The day before, his office had been unbearable, all the shuffling of papers and the chatter of the mission room and the way he could hear his ANBU guard shifting in the shadows blending into a suffocating mixture of sound he couldn’t filter out. He’d wanted— _needed_ —to leave, to catch his breath, but had been unable to move from behind his desk. 

Then he’d woken from a fitful sleep to rain and a dull, familiar ache behind his eye, and everything had caught up with him, sweeping him ever further out to sea.

Even standing here, in front of the stone with Tenzō, the ground feels unsteady under his feet, like he could sink into it at any moment. He’s said more than he intended to, isn’t sure how Tenzō’s taken it. 

Tenzō is saying something, he thinks, but all he can focus on is where his fingers are wrapped around Kakashi’s wrist, a gentle, grounding pressure. 

“Being Hokage—it’s not something you have to do alone,” Tenzō says, voice fading back in through the fog of his hearing, and suddenly there’s a light above the surface of the water, and he’s still half-drowning but he knows which direction to swim to come up for air. “The burden isn’t yours alone to bear, Kakashi, you can ask for help.” 

He’s been trying to keep steady, for Tenzō, and he’s surprised at how much of a relief it is, to have permission to be tired. It hits him all at once that he’s exhausted; despite his best efforts he can’t summon the energy to voice his thanks. But his hand finds Tenzō’s, and when their fingers intertwine he squeezes tight and trusts that Tenzō knows what he means without hearing the words.)

\--

\--

\--

It takes less convincing than Yamato was expecting to get Kakashi to stay home and sleep – another sign that he’s more worn out than he’s been letting on, he thinks with a frown. Once he’s left Kakashi on the couch with firm orders not to move, he sends a hasty note to the Hokage tower explaining that he won’t be in and is surprised when he hears back within minutes – _About time,_ Iruka has written in neat script, _we’ll be fine, so try to keep him there for a while, would you?_

Another frown. Had everyone noticed how poorly he was doing? He wants to kick himself. Instead, he goes to pass along the message to Kakashi – but he’s already asleep, slumped over on the couch at an awkward angle that can’t be good for his neck. He wakes up at Yamato’s prodding, but only halfway, and only enough to shift to a more comfortable position before he’s lost to the world again, and Yamato is left sitting across from him, wondering at how he’d been so blind.

\--

Sakura comes by later that morning, letting herself in as usual, and does a double-take when she sees Kakashi asleep on the couch. It’s another red flag, that he would fall so deeply asleep that he wouldn’t wake at Sakura’s entrance. Yamato tilts his head towards the kitchen and sees her nod of understanding. 

Once they can talk in more than a whisper, Sakura turns to him, eyebrows raised. 

“I’m impressed, Captain – I’ve been trying to get him to take some time off for weeks but he wouldn’t budge. How did you do it?” 

Yamato pauses from where he’s started pouring her coffee. “I don’t think I had all that much to do with it,” he says, frowning again. Sakura had known something was wrong, too – and still, he’d missed it. He can’t stop poring over the last few weeks in his head, looking for any sign that Kakashi was so worn out. 

“I doubt that,” she says, “he listens to you.” At Yamato’s raised eyebrow, she corrects herself. “Well, he listens to you more than he listens to most people. Definitely more than he listens to me.” She glares into the other room at that.

It’s the same check-up as usual, but he’s just going through the motions, mind far away. Unsurprisingly, Sakura calls him on it. 

“What’s got you so distracted?” she asks, when another one of her instructions goes unheard. 

Yamato looks at his hands, embarrassed at being caught. “I feel like—I should have seen it, right? That he was so tired. It’s so obvious, now. I don’t know how I missed it.” 

Next to him, Sakura sighs. “He’s not exactly forthcoming.” 

“Still—it’s like he didn’t want me to know,” Yamato muses, almost to himself. “Like he doesn’t trust me.” 

Sakura’s breath catches, and when he looks up her gaze is soft.

“I don’t think it’s that,” she says, hasty. “I think he trusts you more than anyone. But—he’s been worried about you, that’s all.”

He’s not sure what that means, but Sakura leaves without elaborating and Yamato is left sitting in the living room, thoughts racing and eyes glued to Kakashi’s sleeping form. He can’t quite make the connection that Sakura had seemed to see, something about the combination of Kakashi’s worry and his silence. 

He can’t stop thinking about Kakashi’s eyes, too-wide and tight around the edges. They’d been blank, somewhere far away, at the stone, but he’d gripped Yamato’s hand so tight it hurt, like it was the only thing keeping him standing. 

It’s the contradiction that’s throwing him, he decides, Kakashi’s uncharacteristic honesty that morning – his _trust_ – in contrast with weeks of hiding his exhaustion. Yamato can’t figure out _why_.

He should move, should try to at least make dinner before Kakashi wakes up. He wants – needs – to do _something,_ is frustrated at his own helplessness in the face of Kakashi’s very private hurt. He wants—

He wants to protect him, he realizes with a start, a patently ridiculous idea. Kakashi doesn’t need his protection. But he can’t help but think of that first, horrible night, when Kakashi had so casually made space for him in his bed, without question or judgement. It had felt so safe, in a way he hadn’t expected. That’s what he wants to give Kakashi. 

But instead he’s frozen in his chair, stuck staring at the slow rise and fall of Kakashi’s chest long past the threshold for a socially acceptable amount of time to watch someone sleep.

\--

Yamato doesn’t move, not until a quiet knock at the door jolts him out of his thoughts. He’s not sure how much time has passed, only that the room is dark enough to warrant turning on a lamp and his knees crack when he stands. 

Sakura is back, arms full of groceries and the rest of Team 7 in tow. 

“Hey, Captain,” Naruto says, “do you trust me enough to make dinner? With Sakura watching it can’t be that much of a disaster, right?” He grins, wide and boyish, and Yamato feels a rush of gratitude for the three of them, for how they’ve grown. 

“Of course, Naruto,” he says, willing his voice not to break with sudden emotion. 

“I think that just means he trusts Sakura,” Sai cuts in, “so don’t get too excited.” 

“Oh yeah?” Naruto starts, raising his voice, and Sakura elbows him, looking pointedly over Yamato’s shoulder to where Kakashi is still passed out on the couch. Naruto catches himself, and instead of yelling hisses at Sai, “let’s see what you’ve got, then.” 

Yamato smiles despite himself at the familiarity of their antics. “Alright, then, come on,” he says, moving out of the doorway. Sakura and Naruto make a beeline for the kitchen, Sai following just slightly behind. He pauses at the door, like he’s bracing himself, but gives Yamato a shy smile as he steps over the threshold.

\--

(Kakashi wakes to the sound of clattering dishes and hushed, familiar voices bickering in the kitchen, arguing about recipes and the right way to cut an onion and whether camping is different when you do it for fun instead of a mission. They’re laughing, free and weightless in a way he hasn’t heard before, and he has to bury his eyes in the crook of his elbow for fear that someone might see the moisture there.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the months of february and march threw a wrench in my whole situation but hey. we're back. sorry abt that but also no guarantees that i don't do it again lol yikes


	6. vi. cambium

_[cambium / ˈkambēəm / the layer of cells beneath the tree bark from which new wood (xylem) and new inner bark (phloem) originate]_

\--

Kakashi stays home the next day, and the day after that, too. 

Yamato is fairly confident it has nothing to do with him – it’s some combination of luck and the fact that he seems too genuinely exhausted to put up a fight — but he stays home, and so Yamato chalks it up as a tiny victory all the same. 

Team Seven, who have never been particularly subtle, have clearly set up a rotation of sorts — one of them invariably stops by every few hours, with increasingly poorly-disguised excuses for why, exactly, they needed to come back to the Hatake compound for the third time that day. 

It’s sweet, but Yamato finally breaks when Naruto tries to tell him, with a straight face, that he was hoping he could get Yamato’s roasted asparagus recipe – the very same recipe that, not even a week ago, had left Naruto spitting food into the sink and fixing Yamato with the most betrayed look he can ever remember being the target of.

“Naruto, we won’t completely fall apart if you leave us unsupervised for more than a few hours,” he says gently. Naruto narrows his eyes, puffs out his cheeks the way he does when he’s thinking. Yamato smothers his laugh with a cough and tries to disguise the fondness seeping into his voice. “Really – the three of you are very sweet, but we’ll be alright.” 

Naruto looks unconvinced.

“I mean it,” Yamato says, “we’re—we’ll manage.” He can see why Naruto doesn’t believe him, Yamato reflects, wincing. He hardly sounds convincing to his own ears. 

But it’s true that Kakashi is doing better – the shadows under his eyes are starting to fade, the tension in the line of his shoulders is easing. Yamato is under no illusions; he knows Kakashi is still grappling with a decade’s worth of burnout catching up to him – but things don’t seem quite as dire. 

Naruto sighs, oblivious to Yamato’s musings. “I told Sakura you’d figure us out.” 

“Well. You may be fine shinobi in the field, but your subtlety could use some work,” Yamato says, smiling gently. Naruto pouts. 

“But—”

“How about this,” Yamato starts, acting on an idea that’s been lurking, half-formed, since Sai came to ask if he could borrow one of Yamato’s ancient architectural tomes for some nondescript studying he apparently _needed_ to do. “The three of you come over for dinner tonight – we’ll cook, I won’t even make you do the dishes after. But—give us some room to breathe, Naruto. Sai and Sakura, too.” 

Naruto doesn’t look _happy,_ exactly, but he doesn’t argue, either, and when Yamato shuts the door in his face he feels confident that his plan has at least a fifty percent chance of working. 

Kakashi is watching him from the couch when he turns around, sighing and leaning against the door. 

“Bought us some time, did you?” he asks, one side of his mouth quirking up in a wry smile. 

“Something like that, anyways,” Yamato says, running a hand through his hair. “Were they always this bossy?” 

“Mm, I don’t think so,” Kakashi hums, “that happened once they realized that they could take me in a fight. I was hoping they’d take a little longer to catch on, at least – but no, I get no respect from them, these days.” He doesn’t quite pout, but it’s a near thing.

Yamato laughs as he sits. “It’s about time _someone_ could compete with you other than Gai, I suppose. Come on, make some room.” 

Kakashi shifts just enough for Yamato to sit down, draping his legs over Yamato’s lap almost as soon as he’s settled. 

“Eugh, no, keep your feet away from me,” Yamato says, and Kakashi grins sleepily, poking at him. 

“What, you don’t like this?” he says, lifting his foot dangerously close to Yamato’s face.

There’s a flurry of motion as Yamato grabs at him at the same time Kakashi tries to yank his foot away, and Yamato feels the satisfying rush of victory as his fingers close around Kakashi’s ankle. Kakashi squirms in his grasp, letting out a dissatisfied whine when Yamato refuses to let go and he realizes what’s coming.

“Tenzō, no, wait—” 

“Just remember that did this to yourself,” Yamato says, and cracks all of Kakashi’s toes with one squeeze of his hand. 

The shock at the betrayal plays across Kakashi’s wide-eyed face even as he lets out a sharp, surprised laugh and snatches his foot away. “Noo, Tenzō,” he whines, “how could you?”

“I told you to keep them away,” Yamato says, looking at Kakashi with narrowed eyes and trying not to let his amusement show too clearly. “It’s not my fault you didn’t listen. Do you want me to do your other foot, too?” 

Kakashi looks sideways, sheepish. “Yes,” he admits after a long pause. 

Yamato rolls his eyes. “Ridiculous,” he mutters even as he complies with the request, as if this hasn’t happened hundreds of times before, “and _gross,_ Kakashi, honestly.” 

Kakashi chuckles at that, and when he lowers his legs back onto Yamato’s lap his feet, mercifully, keep their distance from Yamato’s face. 

They fall into an easy silence, then, Kakashi going back to his book and Yamato content to sit with closed eyes and just listen to the sounds of the house, the turning of pages, the way Kakashi’s breathing evens out into deep, relaxed breaths as he reads. 

Eventually, Kakashi must reach a stopping point – Yamato can hear the moment he closes his book, the way he shifts to put it on the coffee table. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me, now,” he teases gently, “I hear we’ve got dinner to make.” 

“’m not falling asleep,” Yamato mumbles, although he had been. “Just resting my eyes.” 

Reluctantly, he claws his way back to full consciousness, and when he blinks his eyes owlishly open Kakashi is watching him, a soft smile on his face. 

“Eyes got enough rest, did they?” Kakashi hums, amusement clear. 

“Oh, be quiet.” Yamato swats weakly at his legs, still sprawled out across his lap, and when he gets a soft, breathy laugh in exchange he marvels at the lightness in it, how distant it feels from just a few days prior.

\--

(Tenzō has been in his personal space, lately, Kakashi realizes when the other man plops himself easily down on the couch, as if he’d never give a second thought to letting Kakashi drape his legs across his lap.

Despite their closeness, he wouldn’t ordinarily describe Tenzō as _touchy,_ not unless there’s something seriously wrong.

But there’s something about the weight of Tenzō’s arm, draped so easily across Kakashi’s legs, that feels familiar, comforting in a way Kakashi can’t quite describe, and when Tenzō sleepily rubs his thumb across Kakashi’s shins his heart clenches quietly in his chest, overwhelmed with the softness of it all. 

He tries to return to his novel, wanting to take advantage of the opportunity to relax that’s been so scarce, lately – but after reading the same page three times without absorbing any of it, he has to admit defeat. Every inch of him that’s pressed against Tenzō feels electric; he finds himself just watching Tenzō breathe, transfixed by the slow, easy rise and fall of his chest. 

He doesn’t think he would have noticed, before. But with the fog of the past weeks (or months, or years) starting to clear – it’s not easy, not yet, but the world doesn’t feel like sandpaper against his skin, anymore; he doesn’t feel quite so close to the edge of some unknown precipice. It's easier to pay attention to smaller things. Important things.

Tenzō’s head jerks forward – he’s falling asleep, Kakashi realizes with a smile, and although he hates to wake him Kakashi finds he doesn’t feel too bad about it, not when Tenzō smiles sleepily at him and stands to stretch, a sliver of sun-warmed skin showing as he raises his arms. 

“Ready?” Tenzō asks, holding out a hand, and Kakashi is mostly telling the truth when he says yes.)

\--

\--

\--

Despite how long they’ve been sharing space in Kakashi’s house, they haven’t cooked together at all – but it’s easy to fall into a rhythm in the kitchen, the two of them orbiting almost without thinking, years of working together allowing them to be practiced at this, too. 

Yamato lets Kakashi take the lead, just chopping vegetables as he’s handed them. They don’t speak, really, but it’s relaxing all the same – the repetition of the knife on the cutting board, the way Kakashi raps his fingers against the counter as he tries to decide what he wants to do next. Yamato isn’t sure what he’s making, if it’s a half-remembered recipe or something of his own creation, but it smells delicious; he finds himself hoping the rest of the team arrives soon as his stomach grumbles.

“Here, this should be the last of it,” he says, scraping the fruits of his labors into a pan at Kakashi’s direction. 

“Thank you,” Kakashi says, and there’s something off in his voice, something more serious than Yamato’s chopped vegetables warrant. 

“It’s only eggplant, Kakashi,” he laughs, “it’s no trouble.” 

Kakashi catches him by the wrist, startling him – when Yamato looks up, Kakashi’s eyes are serious. 

“No,” Kakashi says, “not—for waiting with me, the other day. For staying. I didn’t realize—” 

He looks away, voice trailing off to a mumble. “It helped. That’s all. _You_ helped.” 

Yamato’s breath catches in his throat; he turns his hand, palm up, to grab Kakashi’s. “Good,” he says, squeezing tight. “I’m glad. Just—tell me sooner, next time. If you want.”

Kakashi doesn’t say anything, just nods imperceptibly. Yamato feels the tightness in his chest that’s been present ever since he found Kakashi on the porch loosen ever so slightly. He can’t say for sure that he believes Kakashi would really tell him if something was wrong – he knows better than most how hard it is to disregard years of practice at maintaining a collected façade. But Kakashi’s agreement – it’s something, at least. He’s willing to consider it. 

Yamato looks up to meet Kakashi’s eye, then, and it’s as if they both realize at once how close they are; Yamato is certainly keenly aware of the way he can feel the heat from Kakashi’s body radiating through his thin shirt – but he’s frozen, can’t seem to force himself to move.

There’s a flush spreading high across Kakashi’s cheekbones, but he doesn’t draw away. If anything, he moves closer, eyes locked with Yamato’s as he brushes feather-light fingers along his cheekbone. Yamato wonders, absently, if Kakashi can feel the way his heart is thundering in his chest, pressed together as they are. 

“Tenzō.” Kakashi’s voice is thick when he starts speaking, takes a shaky breath—

There’s a knock at the door. Kakashi steps back abruptly, yanks his hand away as if he’s been burned. 

Yamato lets out the lungful of air he’s been holding with a breathy – breathless, maybe – laugh. 

“Sounds like we have company,” he murmurs. He can’t decide if he’s upset or grateful for the interruption; it gives him a chance to calm his racing heart, if nothing else. 

Team Seven is waiting on their doorstep, as Yamato knew they would be – no one else he knows has their particular gift for inconvenient timing. Naruto pokes his head in suspiciously, as if he’s expecting disaster to have befallen in the hours since he was last there; Yamato thinks he ought to be offended but mostly it makes him smile. 

The three of them follow him back to the kitchen, where they start lifting lids, sticking their fingers in the sauce, and generally getting in the way until Kakashi shoos them away to set the table with annoyance that isn’t quite convincing. 

If he’s flustered, it’s hard to tell – one of the benefits of wearing a mask, Yamato muses. He blames his own red face on the heat of the kitchen. Sakura looks like she doesn’t quite believe him, but – a small mercy – she doesn’t call him on it, either.

\--

_”Kakashi-sensei_ made this?” Naruto says as they eat, disbelief clear on his face. 

“He did,” Yamato says, “is that such a surprise?” 

“He never cooked like this on missions,” Sakura grumbles, arms crossed. Kakashi scratches the back of his head, caught. 

“Mm, it would’ve been cruel to get your hopes up for good food on every mission right at the beginning – you’d have spent most of your careers sorely disappointed,” he tries to explain, but Naruto and Sakura won’t have it, heckling their teacher with a vigor more befitting the genin team Yamato heard so much about than the two young adults seated at the table. 

“Honestly, sensei, even if you didn’t cook like this from the beginning it’s been years! I had to eat _Naruto’s cooking,”_ Sakura gripes at him, “and for that matter so did you! Why would you put yourself through that?” 

“Hey,” Naruto whines, “it wasn’t bad – Captain Yamato, you’ve had my cooking on missions, and it wasn’t that bad, right?” 

Yamato doesn’t say anything, but his face must be more expressive than he realizes because Kakashi takes one look at him, tilts his head back, and laughs – _really_ laughs, quiet and genuine and a little out of practice. It catches the rest of them by surprise, but Naruto and Sakura beam and quietly high-five under the table when they think Yamato isn’t looking, and even Sai seems relieved at the lightening atmosphere.

“See, Tenzō – what did I tell you? No respect,” Kakashi says, wiping his eyes with an unsteady breath. 

Yamato can’t help but smile at that. “No,” he agrees, “none at all. It serves you right.” 

“I guess so,” he says, and there’s a quiet smile on his face, visible even beneath the mask.

Yamato lets out a tiny sigh of relief – clearly whatever Kakashi had wanted to say to him in the kitchen, whatever had made him so suddenly serious, can wait. For now, they can still sit around the table with their team and, with each breath, each laugh, each friendly smile, feel the atmosphere grow gradually less heavy.

\--

By the time their three self-appointed babysitters leave, Kakashi looks better than he has in days, as if some tremendous weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

“Thank you,” Yamato says, softly, as he sees them out the door. “For everything.” 

Sai stops halfway down the front steps, turns to fix him with a gentle smile. “Of course, Captain – it’s no trouble.” 

“I somehow doubt that,” Yamato says, “but really. I— _we_ appreciate it.”

“It’s what teams are for, right?” Naruto chimes in, “for taking care of your precious people. We’d be pretty lousy students if we forgot a lesson as important as that.” 

With that they turn and traipse the rest of the way down the steps and through the garden, Naruto and Sakura returning to their animated discussion as if they haven’t just left Yamato frozen, blinking back a persistent stinging behind his eyes. 

He goes back inside to find Kakashi leaning against the kitchen counter by the open window, wonders how much he’d heard of their conversation. He looks a little overwhelmed – Yamato supposes that’s answer enough. 

“They’re good kids,” he hums, still reeling. Kakashi just nods, a short, jerky motion that speaks to how he’s feeling more clearly than words ever could. 

Yamato lets a comfortable silence sink back into the room, gives in to the faint impulse to lean into Kakashi’s side, wrap an arm around his waist. 

“Alright?” he asks, when Kakashi tilts his head onto Yamato’s shoulder. 

“Mm,” Kakashi hedges, “better, I think.” 

“Good,” Yamato says, “that’s good – I’m so glad, Kakashi.” There’s an awkward pause as Yamato weighs his next words, but eventually he admits, “You scared me.” 

“I know,” Kakashi says, sighing. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t—things seemed so fragile, those first few days. I didn’t want to worry you.” 

Yamato winces. “It seems we’ve both been doing plenty of that anyways. Worrying, I mean.” 

“I guess so,” Kakashi says, and there’s something that sounds like a tired smile in his voice. 

“Mm, we are a mess, aren’t we,” Yamato muses, and Kakashi laughs, the puff of air against his collarbone sending shivers down Yamato’s spine. 

“It seems that way.”

Sensing that Kakashi has just about reached his limit for frank conversations for the night, Yamato steps back. 

“I’ll finish up the dishes,” he says, heading for the sink. 

“Are you sure?” Kakashi asks, “I don’t mind drying.”

“No, that’s alright – you did most of the work on dinner,” Yamato says. He’d like the time to reflect, too, has always found his thoughts easier to process when he has something to do with his hands, although he doesn’t say that part aloud.

It’s not until Kakashi is halfway out the door that Yamato remembers to ask what’s been nagging at the back of his mind all night: “Oh, Kakashi?” He pauses, just inside the kitchen. “Was there something else you’d wanted to talk about? They interrupted you, before.” 

“Hm, that?” Kakashi doesn’t _sound_ concerned, although he looks faintly uncomfortable at the reminder. “No – nothing that can’t wait for the morning. Goodnight, Tenzō.”

\--

\--

\--

(He’d wanted to kiss Tenzō, Kakashi realizes with no small amount of alarm. Tenzō had been inches away from him, had been holding onto his hand, easily, casually, almost without realizing it, and Kakashi had wanted to kiss him. Even now, hours later, he can’t decide if Team Seven’s interruption was a blessing or a curse.

It would have been easy, even – Tenzō’s face had been so close, he could have reached down and tilted his chin and they would have—

It’s too much to consider, somehow, makes Kakashi’s heart do something uncomfortable in his chest and so he pushes the thought firmly to the side.

When he excuses himself for the night without bringing it up, Kakashi tells himself that he just needs some time to gather his thoughts. He very pointedly ignores how much it feels like running away.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, full of garbage: heh yeah back to the regular posting schedule amirite guys?? (i was not right)
> 
> as always thank you for your patience and thank you for reading :')


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